Thanks for the Memories

Savouring memories and finding hope in the face of divorce, loss and alienation.

recent posts

  • A very merry un-birthday: on un-celebrating Christmas and other events in a co-parenting world

    Christmas time is meant to be a joyous time, where we celebrate the birth of Christ or enjoy time together with family (born or chosen). But for many with intact families of their own this can be a time fraught with crippling obligation, difficulty and stress. Add a separation or high conflict co-parenting situation and this time of year becomes almost impossible to bear.

    As we hang the decorations, it can remind us of ‘this time last year’ memories and the betrayal feels as fresh as if it were yesterday. For parents without their kids, it can stir anger and bitterness. Recollecting the unfair legal decision, limited or no access to adequate legal counsel, their inability to fight due to financial necessity or the selfishness of the other parent to simply ‘take’ the children against existing arrangements because they want them for Christmas, like objects to be owned or possessed.

    This year my children will (hopefully) be receiving vouchers from me for Christmas, via the mail. Too much time and a lack of adequate contact has passed for me to know what they would like and last year many of my gifts were returned. When talking about Christmas the remark from one of them was ‘Christmas is already stressful enough…’ presumably, in the house where they are currently living. It is likely the other parent will pocket the voucher or severely restrict the way they spend it. But at least they will have the memory of knowing that I sent it to them with as much love as you can possibly receive in an envelope.

    A Mad World

    In Lewis Carroll’s ‘Alice in Wonderland’, Alice stumbles upon an unusual tea party involving the Mad Hatter, the March Hare and a very sleepy Doormouse. When asked by Alice what they are doing, the Mad Hatter declares that they are celebrating an ‘un-birthday’. The logic being, since there are 364 un-birthdays, it makes much more sense to celebrate these, as they come around more often than the actual birthday.

    In the brand-new (or long endured) world of co-parenting or one with no contact from your children, the world can seem as upside down as Alice in Wonderland. The strange statements or demands from the other parent or your child appear as coherent as those from the Mad Hatter and the March Hare. The professionals who should have an active role in protecting our children or preventing harm seem to have the impetus, drive and powers of the sleepy doormouse.

    Special events become discoloured by toxic memories, carved up by new and unusual custody agreements or stripped of their joy and purpose when the children are withheld or alienated. The effect on many parents can be the drying up of any feeling, will or enthusiasm to celebrate the events they used to enjoy. Add to this the manipulation and loss of other friends or family members during the fray.

    If any of this has happened to you, I am sorry. It is a loss that needs to be grieved, and it cuts deeply. At some point when we are ready and able, we can guard what’s left of our hearts and our holidays to preserve some joy for ourselves, which, when given the opportunity, will overflow to our children.

    My Christmas journey

    Last year I was determined to celebrate and to put up a tree, even though it was only for me. This year I am determined not to celebrate and the tree will stay in the shed. The mere thought of it makes me tired – lining up the right coloured branches with their corresponding slots and then packing it all up again a month later. Maybe I will change my mind between now and then, but whatever I decide, I realise I have changed.

    Holidays have a different meaning now and so do so many other things. So much of my life was lived in absolutes. Of course we have to put up a Christmas tree, of course we have to include everyone we’re related to, if at all humanly possible. Of course we have to break the bank buying gifts. And I can’t say no – because it’s Christmas. But maybe we don’t have to do all of that.

    Last year I adopted a friend’s family who very lovingly included me, but maybe I don’t have to do that either. I can still enjoy time alone without feeling obligated to fill my holidays with people. I can also enjoy time with others. There are no rule books, only those we create for ourselves or accept from other people. Maybe it took such a tragic event as losing my children to help me realize this fact.

    There is hope

    Whatever you decide to do in your own version of the silly season, I hope there is a space to ask- what does this time of year really mean to me? Why is it significant? What purpose does it have? What traditions do I want to observe that are meaningful to me?

    This year I am reinventing what joy really means to me. And maybe, I didn’t understand what it actually was in the first place. I was too busy keeping other people happy. I know I find joy in the people I love. And this year I can find it in the memories I have and the future I see myself having one day.

    I can choose to re-define joy at this stage in my life and again at any other stage. So this year I say, why not un-celebrate Christmas? I don’t mean altogether. I just want to un-celebrate the part that involves the commercialization, the obligation and the over-activity that eclipses its actual meaning. 

    I want to celebrate with my children and I’m sure somewhere deep in their hearts, they also want to celebrate with me (as do all children with their parents). 

    So, since they weren’t here this year to celebrate either my birthday or theirs, when we next see each other, we will be celebrating many, many un-birthdays. 

    And this thought brings me endless joy.

     

  • Thanks for the Memories

    I saw a photo recently of a holiday we had at the beach. They were on their little bellies in the sand, the water lapping at their feet. I remember how freezing the water was, even though it was summer. We built sandcastles and dug holes for the water to fill. I held my youngest child’s hand just to be sure that the waves wouldn’t sweep them in. Later we had dinner and took pictures together with the sunset behind us. It was a beautiful day. The memory is sometimes heartbreaking, a reminder of what we once had and what we have lost, but it also gives me hope because my kids have these memories too.

    As much as someone can try to erase you, remove you from notifications, tell you not to attend special events, block access and make appointments without your knowledge, even encourage your children not to call you mum or dad anymore or suggest you are simply the ‘biological parent’, they can never remove the memories.

    They are seared into our minds.

    Your children can make lots of new memories in the time that should have been yours together, but the old memories from when we are young, are very strong.

    They stay.

    Those memories can be evoked by a sound, a smell, or a familiar place. Those memories capture not only the sensory details of the experience, but also the feelings.

    So every time you sowed love into their lives with your words, your hugs, your shared laughter, your steady consistent presence – when they remember those memories, they will also remember your love. It doesn’t matter how thick the lies are, they can never ever cover up those memories.

    I am grateful for the time I’ve had with my kids.

    Of course I’d like more. But at the moment I can’t control that.

    Despite what has been lost, these memories can’t be taken, they belong to us – to me and to my children. Our ability to even have children is never guaranteed and the time we have on earth is finite. I am grateful for the time we’ve had together and the many memories I now have. 

    While it takes a lot of work, I want to draw a line under these memories, so they can be treasured and not tainted with the ache of expecting more, with the sense of loss and the uncertainty of the future. 

    So that I can require more of the other parent without the constant battle inside my head and my heart that robs me of my peace. 

    So that I can extend the invitation to my children without accidentally attaching expectations with my words, my tone or my expression. 

    So that I can live my life, whatever that looks like, and to be (as much as possible) free of negativity and filled with hope.

    Our memories can never be taken from us. We can celebrate them and separate them from our fraught present and uncertain future. Doing this and other things, means that we can hold onto hope, gratitude and love. We can be the parents who live calmly and gently, consistently reaching out until our children return home.

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